


Together Again

by ThomE_Gemcity_06



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Dean Whump, Drama, Drama & Romance, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Presumed Dead, Reunion, Sick!Dean, Slash, Torture, post-torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomE_Gemcity_06/pseuds/ThomE_Gemcity_06
Summary: He was getting transferred to the SGC's sister agency; Atlantis. It sucked, really. Because he liked it here on Earth, where he had connections, where he knew people and most of all the last surviving member of his family.





	1. Chapter 1

**SGA - SPN**   
**742 - 776**

　Marine Sergeant Dean Winchester-O'Neill sighed and rechecked his bags for what felt like the nth time in precisely seven-minutes-and-thirty-four-point-zero-three-seconds. All of his immediate earthly possessions were in the two dark green duffle bags at his feet, while his other possessions would be shipped by the _Daedalus_. He sighed once again as he stared blankly at the plain gray concrete floor of the embarkment room on the twenty-seventh floor of Stargate Command.　

He was getting transferred to the SGC's sister agency; Atlantis. It sucked, really. Because he liked it here on Earth, where he had connections, where he knew people and most of all the last surviving member of his family. Sure, they weren’t blood related but that didn't mean that General Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill was not more of a father to him than his actual blood father was. 　

His mother, Mary Winchester, died when he was just four years old in a house fire. That just left an emotional enabled father, John Winchester, his infant baby brother Sammy (six months) and him as a four-year-old toddler. When Dean was fifteen, John and Sammy died in a car accident. John's ’67 Chevy Impala was hit head-on by a transport truck, killing both instantly; and resulting in a concussion, broken leg, fractured/broken ribs, shattered collar bone, and broken jaw for Dean. Colonel Jack O'Neill, a close family friend, adopted him soon after that. He had made quick friends with a boy not much older than him, John Sheppard. They had joined the army together; John joining the Air Force, Dean the Marines. Then, one day, he had been informed that John had died during his tour in Iraq. Dean had been devastated, he had three John's and now he had only but one. Dean had demanded to Jack that he saw the body, but an odd expression crossed his face as he said that there was no body to be found.　

After that, Dean thought that there he had finally found a place to stay, a permanent residence. In Colorado Springs, at the SGC. But not anymore. Now he was being relocated to Atlantis, away from everything he knew.　

"Sergeant Winchester," a voice cracked over the intercom and jerked him from his mind-wander. He looked to the observation window.　

One of the very men he had been thinking about, "Dad," escaped his lips being he could stop it. He stood from his crouched position and faced the window.　

"Want to come to zee lair?" Jack asked as he tried to imitate a vampire and failed miserably, Dean couldn't he the bark of laughter that escaped him. Still smiling, he turned and grabbed Casper's sleeve, tugging it to get the man’s attention, "Hey, Casper. Could you watch my bags for me?"

"Sure thing, Dean." the blond nodded.

"Thanks," Dean jogged out of the embarkment room and up the stairs to his dad's office.　

"Dean," Jack greeted as Dean closed the door behind him.　

"Dad?" Dean raised an eyebrow as he sat in the chair in front of Jack's desk.

Jack sat straight in his chair, his hands folded on his desk in front of him, his mouth was in a thin line of seriousness as were his caramel eyes. Seeing this, Dean sat up straighter in his chair and gave his dad a quizzical look. He was positive that he did nothing wrong; he hadn't super-glued anything, unscrewed any screws from any chairs, hadn't put itching powder in any underwear drawers - at least not lately.　

"Dean--" Jack started, but before he could get in another word, Dean interrupted him.　

"I haven't done anything, Dad, I swear." Dean tried to plead for his father to believe him, as if he were fifteen again.　

Jack tried to suppress the smile that wanted to come out and tease his son, the corners trying to twitch upward, "You’re not in trouble, Dean."

Dean squinted at his father, trying to see if he was lying or not. After a few seconds of contemplation he decided his dad wasn't that much of an ass, though Jack did tend to let Dean squirm." Then what is this about?" he asked slowly.　

"You don't have to go," Jack said somewhat cryptically, and with a tinge of desperation that was so quick in coming that Dean didn't have time to catch it.

　

"Don't have to go where?" Dean asked slowly, though he knew where this was going.　

"Atlantis," Jack answered, his back somewhat stiff.

"And why is that?" Dean continued his line of questioning, digging up as much information as he needed. He watched Jack with a sharp gaze, noting the stiffness of his posture, trying to read between the lines of what was being said.　

Jack pursed his lips, wondering if he should have brought the subject up in the first place, or if he just should have pulled the strings quickly enough so that Dean's name wouldn't be on that list to Atlantis for, well, for forever would have been good for Jack's peace of mind. "I know you don't want to go," he started, "I mean you don't really know anybody over there--"　

"Dad!" Dean cut him off incredulously, "I’m not using my dad's connections as a General to get off of this! That's like, totally cheating." He shook his head in disappointment, "That's like having your dad be a teacher and when you get in shit have them pull strings so you don't get suspended."　

Jack glanced down in shame, "Nobody has to know--"

"What the hell, Dad!" Dean interrupted again; this was getting way to weird even for Jack. "Where is this coming from? And why are you so intent on keeping me from going to Atlantis?" he stared so intently at Jack that the older man fought not to squirm.　

What was Jack suppose to tell him? Once he walked through that gate, there would be no turning back. And Jack knew that it would change things between them and not for the better. He cursed himself for what felt like an infinity of times for not just disobeying a direct order from the president and telling Dean the truth that he so deserved to hear. Oh, that's right. He didn't say a word because it would have meant a dishonourable discharge for the both of them. Or in a worst case scenario, Jack O'Neill with two L's and Dean Michael Winchester-O'Neill would have secede to existed.　

( ** _Chevron one, in-coded_**.)　

Jack glanced out the window. He slumped defeated, it was to late now. "You’re right," he said as a way of an apology. He clutched his hands tightly together under his desk, his knuckles turning white with the intensity.

Dean nodded and stood up from his chair. Jack stood a few seconds after.　

"So," Dean drawled, the air in the room suddenly awkward, "I will consent to a minute of a chick flick moment, and take a hug?" he asked his dad, eyebrows raised.　

Jack smirked as he stepped around his desk, "That I would be happy to sign off on." He pulled Dean into a crushing hug.

( ** _Chevron three, in-coded_**.)　

As Jack clutched his son, he begged all those who were holy that Dean would forgive him. Forgive him for the biggest lie he ever had ever told, the lie he knew that hurt his son the most.　

Dean, too, prayed that everything would be fine even if he left, that his father would be safe and sound in his office. He would never tell anyone, but at that moment he felt tears that wanted to fall.

Dean pulled away first with a: "No breaking the contract,"

( ** _Chevron five, in-coded_**.)

Jack smiled sadly as Dean opened the door, "Be safe," he told him. Dean gave a wave and left, closing the door behind him. "No matter what." He whispered, sitting back heavily in his chair.

Dean took a deep breath before he re-entered the embarkment room, smoothing out some ruffled feathers. He thanked Casper for watching his bags for him before turning to the Stargate just as the event horizon settle into it's usual puddle of blue water. Though for some reason he got a hollow feeling in his stomach that something was amiss as his boots clanked against the metal ramp beneath his feet.　

He stopped just before the event horizon and took a few seconds to take one last longing look around him. He was officially leaving his home and moving to another; he felt a small portion of his heart freeze over as he steeped through the horizon.　

The feeling in the pit of his stomach didn't go away, and he figured that it wouldn't for a very long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**SGA - SPN**   
**742 - 776**

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard grumbled under his breath in irritation as he scrubbed a towel through his wet hair. He had at least taken five showers and each scrubbing longer than the last and he thought that he had finally gotten that disgusting smell from his body. He was never wearing those BDU's ever again and he was never going to that disgusting planet: _B6H-732_. That disgusting smelling goop that didn't even deserve to be named and so he didn't.　

It was early afternoon and the new recruits would be arriving soon through the half way point, and he hated that almost as much as he hated doing paper work. He had assumed that when he joined the Air Force that he would be leaving the homework and whatnot behind, and boy could he have been any stupider? John hasn't found out yet so he figured that was a good sign.　

He sighed, he hadn't even read any of the files of any of the soldiers coming; he hadn't the time. He would just make sure Lorne brought them to him before they arrived. Just a dozen more faces he would never put a name to because they would be gone in the long run. And for some reason that dredged up a memory long since taken away from him.　

_Dean Winchester-O'Neill._

His heart hammered inside his chest as a barrage of memories assaulted his senses, causing his to stumbled back and fall on his bed hard.　

Those walled up emerald eyes, the chiselled jaw, stubbled chin much like his own, the short spiked dark blond hair, defined muscle tone and tan scarred skin. And it was all his until that stupid day in Iraq, all this stupid shit top secret crap that ruined his life. He didn't give a shit if his dad and bother thought he was dead, he hated them and they disowned him. It was Dean that his screwed up heart ached for -- would he be able to handle losing another of his loved ones, because he knew Dean's history and he knew that he would be told that John was dead. He knew that General O'Neill knew the truth, but would he endanger his son with the truth to mend a broken heart? Well, in truth he didn't actually know if the General would. And John knew that Dean wouldn't believe it for a minute without any proof, without any body. And that was where his dog tags had come in, covered in none other than his very own blood. And that had sealed the deal. He didn't know if Dean knows about the Stargate and if he did, O'Neill would tell him for sure… Right?　

John remembered all of their firsts like it was yesterday: first kiss, hand job, blow job, the first time they went all the way. That had actually been rough and not in the good way. Both of them had been virgins, not having the time for such pleasantries in the years before. So it was sloppy and very confusing. They hadn't known who should be on the bottom and who on the top. But in the end, it had been one of the best days of John Sheppard’s life. They had decided to do both. After a game of rock paper scissors it was decided that John would bottom first and Dean would bottom later that night. It was actually after they had had sex, all sweaty and sated, naked and tangled in the sheets and around each other that Jack O'Neill had walked in.

Yes, that’s right. Jack O'Neill had walked in on them. The man that practically raised him more than his own father had, had walked in on him just minutes after he fucked his son. And holy shit did he almost piss himself right there and what came out of the older mans mouth made John's heart swell:

_Jack had seen the shoes by the door and he knew John was there. Hopefully they were studying in Dean's room instead of fucking around like they usually did. So on that note, he decided to check, just to make sure. When he made it to the door he just stood there, listening for a moment. When he didn't hear anything he thought of just leaving but decided that since he was already up here, he might as well do some damage. He grabbed the door handle, twisted and pushed it open. His mouth was wide as he was about to say something very fatherly, but the words froze even before they entered his throat._

_The second he opened the door Dean and John shot up into a sitting position, scrambling to yank the blanket to cover up what Jack's mind provided as: naked skin covered in sex sweat._

_Jack didn't say a word as watched the two teens he considered his sons, as they looked at him with wide hazel and green eyes. Deciding on a way to make the most of this, Jack stood up straighter and crossed his arms over his chest. He put on his 'don't think you can get away with this' Colonel ’s face. The corners of his lips wanted so much to turn up into a schoolgirl smile; John looked like he was going to piss himself and Jack did not want to clean that up.　_

_So, being the nonchalant kind of guy he was, Jack let his arms drop to his sides and let the smile go all out. "It's about time you two birdies went at it!" he smiled even broader than before as he heard twin gasps. He let out a satisfied chuckle as he left, closing the door behind him._

_He was finally glad those two had stopped dancing around it._

That's what he actually said, "It's about time you two birdies went at it!"　

John sobbed-laughed at the memory, his arms clutching his middle as he rocked back and forth. Now was the worst time ever to have a breakdown, but it had to come eventually. Holding it in all these years, trying and hardly succeeding in burying each precious memory. He took forced deep breaths, he had to calm down. The new recruits for Atlantis were going to arrive soon and he couldn't be the mess he is now. He was Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and it was his duty to be presentable and it was his duty to be strong and protect Her and his people no matter what.　

And no matter what he was never ever going to see the love of his life Dean Winchester-O'Neill. No matter how much he wanted, no matter how much his aching heart wanted to see him again, to hold him in his arms again. Because of this Program, John was never going to see him again and he should just accept it.　

He could feel Atlantis hum in comfort in the back of his mind, trying to reassure him everything was going to be fine in due time. And he accepted this in stride, because why would She lie to him?　

" _Major Lorne to Colonel Sheppard_." Came the familiar voice of his second in command over the ear talkie, jerking him back to the present.　

John took a long, deep breath as he wiped the drying tears from his face before answering, "This is Sheppard. What can I do for you Major?"

" _The new recruits are going to arrive in 15, sir. You might want to come down to the gate room._ "　

"Do you have--" John started but Lorne already knew what he was going to ask.

"I _have all of their folders with me, sir. You can look over it when you get here. Lorne out_." And he signed off.

John cleaned himself the best he could in the short time he was allotted before making his way to the gate room. Dr. Elizabeth Weir, and Lorne were the only other ones at the gate; they were the only ones that were needed apparently. As John walked up to them, Lorne handed him a semi-thick folder with a nod.　

John flipped quickly through each profile, looking at the picture, then the name, then the other information that he deemed knowledgeable. There were some scientists, doctors/nurses, air force, navy and marines. He slowed down when he got to the marines, but his whole being froze when hard emerald green eyes stared back at him. His fingers turned numb as he stared at Dean Winchester-O'Neill's picture, the folder fell from his hands and the pictures scattered on the floor.　

How could he be coming here and nobody told him?! He vaguely heard his named being called but it was just whitenoise as he dove for the pile of papers. He dug through them, chucking away the ones that weren't Dean. When he finally found Dean's, he smoothed out the crinkles and gripped the most precious piece of paper tightly.　

A hand on his shoulder brought him back, he was sure it was meant to calm him, even sooth him. But he jerked away from it and clutched the piece of paper to his chest.　

The Stargate started to turn, indicating an incoming wormhole.　


	3. Chapter 3

**SGA - SPN**

**742 - 776**

Dean was going crazy, and paranoid, and hearing things and he had nothing to keep his attention. So for the first hour or so he before they all got settled, he was frozen. Because really, he was floating in a tin can in the middle of space. Sure, he couldn't feel the mid-way station move, but if this can got attacked they’d be done for, for sure. At least in a plane crash he had a slight chance of survival, but in this heap? One hole in the wall and they’d be sucked into space and be dead before anyone could fathom why there was a hole in the wall in the first place.　

He’d had his share of captures and being help prisoner on a Goa'uld ship. But he’d had the distraction of being tortured and questioned, staying alive, finding an escape plan then executing said escape plan. But here, he had nothing. So he tried to distract himself by mingling.　

He joined group of fellow marines who happened to be conversing about their destination Atlantis. And he was happy for the distraction, because he was way better with cities floating on water than tin cans floating in space. Until, that is, the discussion of their new CO arose. Dean only knew the basics about this sister agency - floating city of the ancestors, ass kicking technology, ect. -- he knew nothing of the personnel. Because to Dean, what's worse than writing really agonizingly long reports was reading someone else’s agonizingly long reports. 　

So he knew he was hearing things when Casper said: "Yeah, I hear Colonel Sheppard is an awesome CO."　

He heard that wrong, right? Casper said _Colonel Shefford_ not _Colonel **Sheppard**_. Because he couldn't handle having the same CO with the name of John, he just couldn't. He was numb when he got up and walked like a zombie to his temporary quarters. He lay slowly and very stiffly on his small mattress, plugging in his ear buds, he cranked up some AC/DC. His brain tried to convince him that he really did hear _Colonel Shefford_ ), but his heart was telling him that what he first heard was the truth, _Colonel Sheppard_.　

He clutched he extra set of dog tags from around his neck tightly; John's dog tags to be more precise. Ever since that day, he's had them hanging against his own. He somehow found it comforting to hear them clink together, to know that even after everything, some part of them were still together.　

Was this why dad didn't want him to come, because he knew what pain it would cause Dean to work under a CO with the same name? And if that was true, maybe he should have listened even if that meant using his dad's connections like a little snob. But no, he was a Winchester by blood, and an O'Neill by heart, and that meant that he prided himself in his edge of never giving up. And so he was going to stay, and he was going to go about this as normal because it was Colonel Shefford and he was going to avoid him at all costs and he wasn’t going to have a face to face conversation with the man. Because if he said that name and it was of someone else’s face, he had no idea how he would react.　

Dean Winchester-O'Neill was actually very sensitive. You wouldn't know it on first glance or even years after knowing him. You wouldn't think by his tough exterior or hardened eyes. His sarcastic comments in serious situations, the _No Chick Flick Moments_. But by God he was so broken under that tough exterior. He would allow gushy stuff to happen with his father in private, because his dad was the same as him. And for both of them, in their line of work, to get emotional was deadly.　

Dean has a fear; he was afraid that it had finally come true. Everybody leaving him, all alone by himself. First Samuel and Deanna Campbell (his grandparents, mothers side), Mary Winchester (his mother), John and Sammy Winchester (blood father and baby brother), even Uncle Bobby Singer. Died, leaving him alone -- until Jack O'Neill with two L's came and took him in. They were two of a kind, all of their families leaving them alone. Then Jack made friends when he went on that Top Secret mission of his and Dean had met John Sheppard. They were all one big happy family again, as weird as it was; but it had worked. But everything almost fell apart when John had gone on that stupid mission to Iraq and got his fighter plane bombed; incinerating his body, yet leaving a pair of bloody tags.　

What if the CO of Atlantis was--　

"We're heading out, Winchester." Casper informed him, jerking Dean from his major mind wander. Dean nodded, his body feeling weak to the core, but he gathered his things anyway and followed the other Sergeant to the gate room. Once again he was at the back of the crowd, the last one through the gate to a place where he knew his heart was going to go crazy with emotions. Out of nowhere there was this humming presence in the back of his mind that mutely reassured him. Dean hadn't had time to think on this or wonder what the hell it was before the gate closed behind him.

When he came out on the other side of the gate and stepped into Atlantis, he had no time to take a good look around. Dean had expected the others to have gotten in formation, but instead they were in a scattered group being herded down the hall by a man with brown hair and a black BDU's. Dean was about to trail at them when a figure in the middle of the floor drew his attention. Dean looked around the room, The main gate floor was almost empty, but for a woman and a man conversing far enough from the man on the floor so he wouldn't hear them.　

Dean looked back at the man on the floor. He was folded in on himself, clutching a piece of paper to his chest, while others were scattered around him. He had unruly black hair that was defiantly not Air Force, and it sparked something in Dean's heart as the Hum was back in his head started up again -- urging him towards this familiar man.　

His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he dropped his bags onto the floor and slid on his knee's after them. He crawled towards the man, blocking out everything else. As Dean drew closer, more features became available to him: There was the black hair, lanky body, long fingers, and a dark chin of stubble. Dean's hands shook as he reached towards the man…　

John started when hands cupped his face, he wanted to pull away but these hands. He remembered this hands, there were Dean's hands. But how -- right. Dean was coming here, and the last thing he remembered before he zoned out was the gate being dialled from the mid-way station. Oh. My. God! Dean!　

Dean sucked in a sharp breath as he looked into those wide hazel green eyes, It was him! It was Johnny! But John's dead, Right? Right? Dean gave his head a shake, the why's and huh's didn't matter right now. What mattered was that the man he had thought dead for years was right there and Dean was in the same place. Dean threw himself at John, the force knocking them back as Dean wrapped his arm around John, burying his face in his neck.　

John in turn hugged Dean close; he didn't care that they were in the middle of the gate room. He didn't care that he could get sent away. He wouldn't even care if the Wraith attacked Atlantis, as long as he could hold Dean like this forever. He closed his eyes and his nose drifted to Dean's hair and he inhaled. Gun powder, sweat, light mint scented after shave; yep, that was Dean. John could totally stay like this forever--

A cleared throat interrupted his inner-logue, and he could feel every muscle of Dean’s tense.　

Dean could feel anger course throughout him. Who did they think they were? Interrupting such a moment. Interrupting such a chick flick moment that Dean would let go on forever. John gave him a reassuring squeeze but didn't let go. Dean didn't relax and neither did he.　

He looked up at Weir and said in a monotone, "Elizabeth,"

Her arms were crossed and she had an eyebrow raised, "John," she said in the same tone as him, "Can I see you and…" She paused, picking up the piece of paper that John had been holding from the ground and looked it over. She gave John a long look before she continued, "Sergeant Winchester- _O'Neill_ in my office."　

She gave John a very pointed look.


	4. Chapter 4

**SGA - SPN**

**742 - 776**

Silence filled the small office as John paced the length of the room, his arms crossed securely over his chest, his face blank and unreadable. What was he supposed to say?

_Yeah, back in the day_ , - _before the Startgate Program_ -, _General O'Neill's son and I hit the sack together._ _Then, when I was in Iraq the president made me fake my death so I could come here_! Yes, that would go over well--not! There was still that thing called _Don't Ask/Don ’t Tell_. _So_ , he thought grimly, _no matter what I said, things were going to turn out bad for the both of us_.　

Weir was behind her desk, her hands folded neatly on top, and she also had a stern expression as she watched John and ignored Dean.

For Dean, well, the first and foremost thing that should have been on his mind was that: John Sheppard was alive and well, he was alive! For all Dean knew, John could be married to this Doctor right in front of him, and that made the urge to strangle her even greater.　

He sat on the very edge of his seat, every muscle was a tense as a wound spring. His lips were pursed into a thin line as his face and eyes were blank and hard. He was not going to say one damn thing to this woman, not when anything he said would virtually take John away from him, and only when he just got him back.　

Dean unconsciously clutched John's old dog tags trough his BDU shirt as he reached out fast like a cobra and snagged Johns sleeve, before yanking the man downward into the chair. John plopped down with a surprised " _Ooof "_ and the corner of Dean's lips twitched as John gave him an incredulous look. Dean didn't take his hand from John's arm as their eyes locked and the world around them melted. It felt as if they hadn't spent a day apart. But they _had_ spent years apart. All those years of pretending to be whole when they weren't, flirting back to all those women but never sleeping with them, pretending to be a player when they only ever slept with each other. 　

A clearing of throat jerked them back to the present and they turned back to Weir. She looked at them for a long moment and Dean withdrew his hand, already missing the contact.　

"Do you want to explain this to me, Colonel?" Weir asked, her own lips pursed together.　

There was a beat of silence as John scratched the back of his head. "To tell the truth -- No, I don't want to explain it." his voice was hard and cold. This surprised Weir, she had only ever heard John use that tone of voice to the enemy -- did that make her his enemy? If so, then she'd just have to play the villain in order for him to spill.　

"If this is what I think it is, than I'm going to have to speak with General O'Neill." She informed the two men.　

"And what do you expect he's going to do, Dr. Weir?" Dean asked darkly; speaking for the first time. John looked at him with such loving eyes. _God_ , he missed that rough voice so much -- it sent a shiver down his spine. "General O'Neill already tried to talk me out of coming here, but clearly I declined. It is Dr. Weir, right?"　

Weir looked into those emerald eyes and couldn't help the shiver of fear that passed through her. Those eyes… they looked dead, cold and hard. She could clearly see a threat in them and a promise to make due on that threat if she said or did the wrong thing, and she could tell that he would do it and no one would find out. Weir glanced at John who had a some what similar look, though instead his said: that he would never ever forgive her. If she got into trouble he would help her, sure, but that didn't mean he had forgiven her.　

Weir glanced down at her clenched hands and forcefully relaxed them before looking up again. She met Dean's eyes more prepared now for a barrage of hate, but instead of dead emerald she looked into cool emerald. She wondered if she had just imagined it, but the slight narrowness of his eyes told her she did not.

Dean would not let this woman take John away from him, not when he had finally got the man he loved back. He told her this with his eyes and knew she had seen when she clenched her hands and he saw the spark of fear in her eyes. The way she glanced away at John (who, by the way, is alive - _Whoopi_!) then glance down at her fisted hands.　

"I'm not gonna ask and I'm not going to tell, Colonel." She held up her hand to stop John from saying anything and she waited for him to sit back before continuing. "You’re going to have to be discreet, and he can't be put on your team, Colonel, but if he's as good as his file says he is, than I'd be willing to put him on Major Lorne's team since Lt. Holiday transferred out. He will be put in the quarters where the others are, and I'm going to assume you will take him on the tour of the city yourself since your team doesn't have any missions for a day or two." 　

John nodded to this, already revving to get out of here and rip Dean's clothes from his body.　

There was another beat or two of silence before she spoke again, "Your dismissed, Colonel, Sergeant."

John smiled broadly at her as he got up from his chair and made his towards the door. With John's back turned, Dean looked towards Weir. His emerald eyes were slightly smug and superior while the rest were cold and calculating. A more controlled shiver ran through her this time as he turned away. She was more scared with the twenty minutes she had spent with Dean Winchester-O'Neill than she had been when she was being held captive for hours by Kolya.　

"So what do you want to do first?" John asked as they made their way down the set of stairs. He looked to Dean, his hazel eyes bright with almost uncontrolled love and joy.　

Dean chuckled, "It's your city, John, you can choose." He put his hand on John's shoulder, the touch lingering and John wanted it to linger for years.　

"Do you really want to know what I want to do right now?" John whispered heatedly into Dean's ear, pressing him against the empty hall wall. He slowly licked the shell of Dean's ear. Dean shivered as he gripped John's hips, his head falling against the wall behind him. The next thing both of them knew the world went horizontal as the wall behind them hummed and a panel moved aside, causing both men to fall backwards.　

They lay there, somewhat stunned from the fall. The room was medium in size, big enough to fit a small group of people. There were benches and shelves and it really looked like a bomb shelter. Not really knowing what to do after that, they just lay. John's head resting on Dean's shoulder as Dean carded his finger through that black unruly hair -- _God, it had been such a long time._ 　

Dean started to hum Metallica while John drew gate symbols on his stomach with a finger, "I missed you, Johnny." Dean whispered into his hair as he took a deep breath. His vision was getting suspiciously blurry as his eyes welled in tears long since buried. His body shook in silent sobs as tears pored down his cheeks and into John's hair as he clutched the man close. "I love you so much,"　

"I love you, too, Dean." John whispered, clutching him close. He also had tears running down his cheeks, creating a wet spot on Dean's shirt.　

"We're going to be together," Dean said, his voice hoarse from the tears that had slowed done, if only a little. "Forever, right, John?" he asked his voice uncertain. There was no way he could have John now, but then only to be rejected. "You don't have a wife and kids, do you?" he asked as an afterthought with some of his usual humour.　

"Off course not," John smiled, thumbing his tears away. "Who would be stupid enough to pass you up?"　

"I'll take a wild guess and say: you were the stupid one for not passing me?" Dean baited, trying to suppress his laughter.

"Are you taking a swing at my intelligence, Winchester?" John questioned as he flipped over onto his stomach and leaned on his elbows, he raised a dark eyebrow.　

"Oh, is little bitty Sheppard too simple?" Dean's said, making his eyes big in shock and stuck his lower lip out in mock-sympathy.　

John pushed himself onto his knees, his mouth open like a fish. Before he clamped his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I'll show you just how **Not** little bitty I am." He told Dean sternly, getting to his feet. "I’ve been inside you enough time for you to remember."　

"Really?" Dean drawled out, sitting up on his elbows. "Prove it." he smirked. "I’m having a bit of a **hard** time remembering."

"Oh, I'll prove it all right." John told swiftly unzipping his pants.


	5. Chapter 5

**SGA - SPN**

**742 - 776**

Dean forced down the huge grin that wanted to cross his face as he stood with the rest of his new team in front of the Atlantis Stargate for their first mission together. His new team was cool enough.; Major Evan Lorne was an excellent leader and soldier from what he had heard from John. Captain Sean Martin and Lieutenant Patrick Jane seemed like okay guys, welcoming him on the team with open smiles.　

He also noticed that the Atlantis Stargate was way different from the one back home, back on Earth. This looked and felt more space-age and less stone-age like their original Stargate, and from the reports he skimmed over it was more advanced as well as had a better shield then the iris back home. And from what he had seen of Atlantis, the tour John had given him (after he and John had reacquainted themselves in the secret little room that Atlantis had shown them) -- the details that he had seen when he and John weren't in each other's pants after every corner… Dean knew that Dad's best friend Daniel Jackson would so kill to be here, but Dad didn't seem to ever let him out of his sight.　

"Dialling gate address!" Chuck, the gate tech called from the control room.

True to his word, the gate was dialled. But, again, unlike the one back home the constellations glowed, one by one. It seemed like it turned almost digitally and the symbol at the top would always glow for a second longer before it locked in place. It took all of twelve seconds instead of twenty-three before it locked and the vortex snapped out.　

Lorne looked at his team and his new member before he gave a nod. It a go-ahead signal and Martin and Jane stepped through the gate’s event horizon, Lorne followed behind them. Dean stepped to the gate, stopping just shy of the horizon he glanced behind himself. Up on the balcony above the control room stood John, leaning against the railing. He gave Dean a nod and Dean knew as he stepped through the gate that nothing could be so bad as long as he could return to that after each mission off-world.　

As Dean came out the other side, he instantly raised his P90 and checked the surrounding area as the others had. It was clear around the gate and they relaxed their stances slightly but kept an eye out just in case.

"The gate’s clear, sir." Lorne informed John through the radio.　

"That good news, Major." John's voice crackled back. "Check in at the allotted time and remember to show our newest member a good time."　

Dean saw Martin and Jane grin like fools and Lorne raised a humoured brow.　

"Of course, sir." Lorne assured. "Lorne out,"　

And the gate snapped out, leaving them deserted on an unfamiliar planet.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Dean asked Martin and Jane, they just gave him their twin grins.

"Don't worry, Winchester, you're safe with us!" they laughed in stereo.　

Lorne shook his head before he started away from the gate. Dean followed and Martin and Jane brang up the rear. Dean gave a wary glance behind before focusing on what was up ahead. He had actually thought that the planets in the Pegasus Galaxy would be different from those in the Milky Way, but by the looks of it, they were the same. At least from what he could see at the moment…　

**SGA - SPN**

John paced the gate room floor like a crazy person; they were late! And John was freaking. Yes, sometimes teams were late getting back due to delay. And Lorne's last check-in was on time and had no news, good or bad. And any other time he wouldn't have even bothered to come down to the gate room -- but this was Dean.　

Lorne was an excellent leader and knew how to take care of his team, but this was Dean’s first mission since he had gotten to Atlantis. And John knew the things out there in the Pegasus Galaxy better than anyone around. And Dean didn't. John knew that Dean could more than take care of himself and his team, but he had just gotten Dean back. He had no idea what he would do if anything happened to Dean, he wouldn't be able to take it again.　

He was, and John knew, but he wasn't sure Dean did -- was that Dean was reckless. Sure, for the first few missions he would just dip his toe in the water, but after that he cannon balled. He would be the good little soldier for Lorne for a while, but then he would start to do his thing. And Lorne wasn't one to take soldiers who were reckless. John also knew that Dean would have only skimmed over the reports, saying that notes on a piece of paper would be nothing like the firsthand experience.　

"He will be fine, John." Teyla Emmagan reassured him in a soft voice, a hand on his back.　

John forced himself to stop pacing and stand still. He'd just give Dean hell when he got back.　

**SGA - SPN**

Dean put one foot in front of the other as he rushed forward as fast as he could, weaving around trees and jumping over bushes. He knew that his first mission from Atlantis could never go simple, but this was just ridiculous!　

Dean had found out that they planet they were on had already been explored by the former SGA-2 and was deemed abandoned, and this was just a routine check-up. He was fine with that, it would give him time to get to know his team mate better, get to know their off-world habits. He had never really expected to run into the Wraith here, and neither had the rest of SGA-2 by the looks of it.　

They were being trailed by a Dart and a few foot soldiers too. Dean was not prepared for a face-to-face confrontation with the Wraith. Yes, he had seen pictures but it was nothing like the close up and personal. The drone of the Dart overhead made him want to dive for cover, but he override that instinct and kept up pace with Lorne, Martin and Jane. They were the experts, so he would follow their lead.　

Dirt was flying everywhere as fire balls were shot from the Darts and blue balls of light flashed passed from the Wraith's stunners. Which, Dean noted, were way different from the zat's at the SGC. They were nearing the gate, with Martin pulling ahead to the DHD and Lorne had the GDO ready at hand for when the wormhole was established.　

Dean focused on the back of Jane's head, who was a few feet in front of him as they kept on running. He chanced a glance behind him and saw that the foot soldiers were far behind. Martin had made it to the DHD and Lorne was Typing in the GDO code as he ran. Another blue ball from the Wraith stunner was discharged, it flew past Dean but hit Jane in front of him. It envelope his body and he grunted as his muscle tensed involuntarily. Lorne turned to look back in that instant and was starting to turn back but Dean waved him off.　

"Go! I got him!"

And he did. As Jane started to crumple to the ground, Dean put on a burst speed and caught him before he hit the ground. With that momentum and the adrenaline coursing through him, he threw Jane over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The wormhole established and Martin ran through first after a lingering, worried glance at the unconscious Jane in Dean's hold. Lorne waited until Dean was a few feet away before he went through too. With the added weight of Jane, Dean was somewhat slower, but not enough so that the Wraith foot soldiers or the Dart overhead caught him.　

He ran through the event horizon and it snapped closed behind him. There was a gurney already waiting on the other side, it was rolled to him and Dean laid the still unconscious Jane on the gurney. As he took a step back, Martin caught his gaze and gave him an appreciative nod before he walked beside the gurney as it was rolled away. Someone clapped him on the back and turned to see Lorne giving him a nod before he went down the same hall the gurney-ed Jane and Martin went.　

Dean rolled his shoulder as he caught his breath. He was all sweaty and the dirt that was flying everywhere clung to him.　

"It looks like Lorne approves of having you on his team," came from his left.　

"Yes, sir." came Dean's reply as he turned and realized that it was John who had commented.

Dean grinned at him, but John's arms were crossed over his chest. Dean raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You know what you did," John scolded in a low voice as to not have it travel to the techs in the control room.

Dean was silent as he stared at John, actually not knowing what he did.

"You worried the crap outta me, Dean!" John hissed at him finally.

Dean gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry," but the grin found its place on his lips again. "But I think I'm going to like here."

Dean felt that happy Hum in the back of his head again and knew what he said was the truth.　


	6. Chapter 6

**SGA - SPN**

**7 42 - 77 6**

　Dean searched the mess room for an open table. Usually he would sit with Dad, Daniel, Teal'c and Sam Carter, but he wasn't on Earth anymore and this wasn't the SGC. Dean gave a sigh as he finally found an empty table in the corner just the way he liked it. He puffed out his cheeks as he sat down, sorting his tray for a minute. He had heard rumours -- how could one not? -- That the Atlantis food wasn't all from Earth, but other planets in the Pegasus Galaxy. Dean had picked the food that looked the normal-est looking food he could find. An Apple, a pudding cup, a thing of juice and two ham and cheese sandwiches; Dean didn't like change, at all.　

Dean had found out that John had gotten a mission; his team was the flagship team after all. That first day when Dean had arrived on Atlantis, he and John had been at it like a couple of gay bunny-rabbits. It had been two days since then, a day since his first mission.　

That first day, when he had seen John was like a jolt, a jolt that Dean didn't think he could come down from. But now, it seemed like they were never apart, not for all of these years. Like they had always been together and the jolt didn't have that much of a zap. He loved John, with all his being and hated to be apart from him, but how was this going to work?　

Before, when they were together on Earth, it was easier. They had an outside life from the military, but here, on Atlantis they would always be around their coworkers, their team-mates and fellow military men and women. There was the Don't-ask-Don't-tell policy, but there were major homophobes in the military, more than people really knew. What if they found out about he and John? What would happen then?

"Sergeant Winchester?"　

Dean blinked and looked up, standing in front of him was two of his new team-mates, Martin and Jane, both giving him greeting smiles. Dean retuned the smile and made a be-seated gesture.　

"Call me Dean," he told them.　

Their smiles turned into grins.　

"I'm Sean," Martin introduced. "And that's Patrick."

Patrick stuck out his hand to Dean. "Uh, thanks for, you know, carrying me and all." He blushed ever so slightly.　

Dean shook his hand. "Sure, never leave a team-mate behind, right?"

"Still," Patrick's face turned serious for a second. "I appreciated it, if you hadn't gotten me, the Wraith would have." A shudder passed through him and Sean paled slightly.

"They're that bad, huh?" Dean asked, curious.　

"Dude!" they coursed.　

"They have these sucker things on their hands!" Sean continued, pointing to his hand.　

"And they literally suck the life out of you." Patrick finished.　

They both shuddered, Dean did too.　

"You know, Colonel Sheppard's been sucked on before." Patrick said suddenly, glancing at Sean.

Now Dean paled considerably. Could John really have been sucked on by a Wraith? Why the hell hadn't he said anything? He had to be okay, right? He seemed fine. Dean didn't see anything to assume that it had affected him.　

Sean elbowed Patrick in the side and gave him a glare, Patrick gave him "what?" shrug and Sean jerked his head in Dean's direction. As Patrick saw Dean's pale face, it finally dawned on him.　

"He's your friend, right?" Sean asked, he raised his right brown ever so slightly.

Dean looked at him before turning his gaze to Patrick and back again. His face turned blank in a second and his emerald eyes hard. "What's that supposed mean?"　

Sean raised his hands up in surrender and glanced around the mess; no one was paying any attention to them. He leaned forward slightly. "You don't have to worry about us," he assured Dean.　

Dean caught the stare that Sean and Patrick shared.　

"Trust me," Sean sat back in his seat with a sigh. "Anyway, we like Colonel Sheppard and we think that it’s going to be cool to have you in Atlantis and on our team."　

Patrick nodded his approval. "Even Major Lorne likes you,"

Dean was silent for a moment as he looked between the two with a calculating look. They seemed like good guys and from how he had seen the two act around each other, he knew that they were together. Like he and John were. He didn't know their story, but Dean knew that these two were the Good Guys.　

He let his hard expression fall. "I think I'm going to like it here too." He felt that Hum in the back of his mind again, with the truth of the words he had spoken.

Sean and Patrick grinned at him.　

"Dude, do you play poker?" Patrick asked as they started in on their lunch. "Because if you do, we should play some time…"　

**SGA - SPN**

Dean cornered John the first chance he got, which was easy because there were a lot of empty corridors around Atlantis because it was so big. The hard part was finding John himself, like before, this place was huge and the people were really scarce. The only reason why he actually found John was because of the weird Hum in the back of his head.　

He still had no idea what the hell it was, but had a slight inkling that it had to do with the fact that he had the Ancient Gene in his blood, just like Dad did. But again, he didn't have time to figure it out. Right now, he had to deal with John.　

John himself couldn’t help the flirtatious grin as Dean snatched him and pinned him to the wall. "I was wondering when we'd get to do this again." He raised an eyebrow.

Dean forced himself not to grin back, he had business to take care of. "How come you never told me that a Wraith sucked on you, John!" he ground out.

John grin fell away. "How did you find out about that?"　

"Someone let it slip," was all Dean told him. "Now tell me why you didn't tell me."　

John sighed and banged his head against the wall behind him. "I didn't say anything because I didn't see why I should, Dean." He looked Dean in the eyes.

Dean looked back. "You should have told me because I love you, John."

The corner of John's lips curled slightly. "And that's precisely why I didn't tell you."　

Dean was silent as he searched John's hazel green eyes, and it was true. He could see the love in John's eyes and he felt that jolt again, the jolt he felt when he first laid eyes on John Sheppard on the floor, on his knees. Dean pulled him forward, crushing his lips against John's. John didn't hesitate to kiss back, he could feel the desperation in the movement of his lips and he was feeling a little desperate himself.　

The wall behind them disappeared again, just like the first time and they were deposited into an exact replica of the last one.　

Though this time they didn't even paused in the ministrations, but instead continued them more frantically, both feeling the Hum of Atlantis.

After that first day, they had hardly seen each other. And like Weir had said, they had to be discreet. It's not like they start making-out in the mess, and it did look odd if John started to suddenly hang out with a Sergeant from SGC. Yes, his reputation as a ladies man should hold strong -- rumours spread like wildfire around Atlantis. And John was sure some were spreading from his episode in the gate room three days ago.　

It was inevitable.


	7. Chapter 7

**SGA - SPN**

**7 42 - 776**

　Dean decided that he liked it when it rain, especially the way it looked when he was surrounded by clear Ocean. When it rained, he always felt the need to swim, it sounded weird but maybe he was. God knew he wasn't normal. But he liked the way it felt when the hundreds of drops hit his skin at once. But right now, in this moment -- he wished that it would just stop!　

When SGA-2 had got to P7X-J79 it was as sunny and the sun can be—three suns for that matter. It had been as hot and as dry as a dessert, with not a cloud in sight. They had walked for little over a few hours, and found nothing that could interest or benefit Atlantis in any way whatsoever. They had decided to take a rest before heading back.　

Dean unclipped his pack from his vest, letting out a small groan as it dropped to the dusty ground. Sean and Patrick did the same, but with more complaining and Lorne just shook his head at the three of them.　

"Fifteen minutes and then we head back," Lorne told them, careful to set his pack on the ground and not stir up any dust. Before he carefully sat on one of the few patches of grass around this place.　

"I'm going to..." Patrick made a hand gesture, and Sean tried to hide a smirk. "You know," he jerked his thumb in the direction behind him and with a face flushed with embarrassment took off in that direction.

There was a beat of silence before Sean burst out in laughter, rolling in the dirt. Dean just looked at him and the spot where Patrick had disappeared into and back with confusion. He had no idea what was so funny and when Sean didn't look like he was going to be breathing for a while, he looked to Lorne.

Lorne smiled as he looked at Dean. "Jane gets sensitive when it comes to the matter of Nature-Call's."

A smile twitched at the corner of Dean mouth as he dug around in his pack for his canteen. It was a little funny that someone—a guy for that matter—was embarrassed by the fact that he had to go take a wiz. But Dean guessed that that was just the type of guy that Patrick was. Dean had never been embarrassed about who he was, he liked who he was, was proud to be who he was. And yes, he didn't like the fact that he had to hide that he was with John, just like he did like the fact that Sean and Patrick had to hide that they were together too. But who knew what disaster would ensue if it where to get out that he and Atlantis's Militia CO was gay? Dean let out a depressed sigh. Who knew one relationship could be so complicated?　

As Dean tore into a power bar and slid of his vest and took off his black BDU shirt, Patrick slipped back into fold without being noticed—that much. Dean saw Sean shoot him a grin. He leaned back against the tree that he had claimed, wishing he had brought a pair of sunglasses, or a hat for the matter.　

"So, Sergeant." Lorne started, looking at Dean. "What brought you to Atlantis?" at the question both Sean and Patrick looked at him too.　

Dean looked back. "Would you believe me if I said that I came here by choice?" he asked them, hoping.　

Sean snorted rudely. "No one come's here by choice, at least not nowadays."

Lorne sent him a look at the comment and Sean just shrugged his shoulders, returning his attention back to Dean.

Dean puffed his cheeks out. "They were doing these blood tests back on Earth, testing the staff to see if the had this . . . Ancient Gene thing. Apparently I was one of the few who had had it, so the transferred me."　

"You have the Gene?" Patrick asked, his green eyes sparked with jealousy.　

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, his brows furrowed slightly. "Is that a good thing?"　

"Well," Sean said. "If you’re in Atlantis it is."

"Okay." Dean nodded. "If it's so good, then what can it do?"　

"You didn't read the report." Lorne said dryly.　

Dean winced. "I skimmed it."　

Lorne shook his head.

"Fine. So what's so big about this Ancient Gene?" Dean asked.　

Patrick gave a scoff. "It's so cool! With it you can control any Ancient device. You can fly the Jumpers," Dean paled slightly at that. "Use any consoles . . ." he trailed off, his face still alit.　

"So, do you have it then?" Dean asked him.　

Patrick's face fell at the mention of that. "No." he stated flatly.　

"Oh," Dean felt slightly awkward that he had asked now.　

"You can either be born with it, or your DNA can get introduced to a artificial Gene that Dr. Beckett created." Sean explained. "Patrick wasn't born with it, and when Beckett tried to give it to him, it didn't take." There was a tick of silence before Sean spoke again. "Mine's artificial, so it's weak. I can only activate the little things, but with a bit of practice I learned to hone it enough to fly a Jumper." He jerked his head in Lorne's direction, "The Major's is genetic and it's as powerful as Dr. Beckett's."　

"Really?" Dean raised his brows at Lorne.　

Lorne nodded. "Next to Colonel Sheppard's Gene, which is actually the strongest in the whole City."　

Sean and Patrick's eyes snapped to Dean at the mention of John.

Dean nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I think that I should actually read all of those reports that I get."　

Lorne's expression was dubious.

Dean looked at him, "Really."

Sean gave him a grin.　

They headed back after that. Their things pack up, all feeling fresh again to handle the hot trek back. It looked like the suns would stay up there forever, but when they were about a half of the way back to the gate, thunderclouds descended. Instantly they overloaded the bright sky, the inky-black clouds blotting out the three suns, leaving the surface of the planet as dark as the inside of a paper bag.　

Dean and Lorne were walking in front, Sean and Patrick walking a few feet behind them. When everything turned dark, Dean and Lorne stopped walking at the same time. Sean and Patrick, not seeing the action they bumped right into the others. Not one moved.

"Someone got a light?" Dean asked even as he was pulling the flash light from his vest.　

There was rustling around him as the others also dug around for their own lights. They clicked them on at the same time. The instant they did so, there was a clap of thunder overhead. They looked up just as the rain started to poor down. In seconds they were soaked to the bone.　

"Did anyone bring any rain gear?" Lorne shouted.

"Of course!" Sean scoffed. "It's a dessert planet with three suns, so that was an obvious sign to bring rain gear." He said sarcastically.　

Lorne didn't say anything in turn.　

"Why are we just standing here?" Dean shouted, wetter than the other with just his T-shirt and vest. "We're already half-way there, we might as well keep going. Who knows how long this is gonna last?"　

They nodded in agreement and continued on their way. They walked in close proximity, trying to stay warm and block out as much rain as possible. It was two hours later that they finally made it to the gate, their gear soaked and their boots and pants muddy. As Patrick had started to dial the gate back to Atlantis, the rain just stopped and the cloud cleared to reveal the three suns once again.

"What the Hell?" Patrick yelled uncharacteristically.

Sean looked at him with wide eyes, Dean and Lorne raised their brows. Patrick blushed at all of the attention as the wormhole engaged. Lorne entered the SGA-2's code into the GDO before he walking through the event horizon. Patrick and Sean followed after him.

With one last distasteful look at the surrounding area around the gate, he turned and walked through the horizon. "Good for nothing Planet." he muttered, rubbing the itch from his nose.


	8. Chapter 8

**SGA - SPN**

**7 42 - 776**

　Dean paused in his stride to give a long sniff, before continuing on his way to the mess. He wasn't getting sick, it was just the sniffles—he swore it. Because there was no way that he could get sick, not here and definitely not now. It was just the cool whether around Atlantis that had caused his nose to run slightly—the city was surrounded by a body of water after all.　

When he got to the mess he decided that instead of getting his usual, he would get some orange juice and hot soup and instead of eating outside, he would stay in where it was warmer—his nose would stop running and his worries would be dismissed. When he entered the mess hall it was fairly empty, Dean didn't think anything of it. It was fairly early in the day for people to be about.　

He sat at a table that was against the wall, setting his tray down carefully on the table. He wasn't quite sure what kind of soup this was, but one thing that he did know was that this was no Earth soup. After crushing some saltine crackers into the bowl and a hesitant spoon full, he deemed that it was actually pretty good and could taste a hint of broth—which was what he wanted in the first place.　

Dean finished without incident and was already feeling better—he nose wasn't really running anymore. Since SGA-2 didn't have a mission today, Dean decided that he would go to the gym and work out for a while—he had nothing better to do anyway.

After cleaning up his tray, Dean headed back to his quarters to change into his workout clothes. Clad in a pair of track pants and a tee, he headed to the gym. It was empty, which suited Dean just fine and he didn't waste anytime. He put on his ear-buds and turned on some AC/DC as he jogged on the treadmill, loosening himself up for his workout. Afterward her did some push-up's and then some crunches before turning to the weights.　

It was starting to get hot in the room, he was staring to get hot—sweating profusely. He went to get up, but quickly sat back down as a wave of dizziness hit him—head rush, Dean decided. He grabbed the water button at his side and guzzled half of the cold water quickly, before he wiped his face off with the towel. After a minute the dizziness went away, but not completely.　

He was careful to stand, in case he got dizzy again. He threw the towel over his shoulder and kept the water bottle with him as he left the workout room and started to head back to his quarters. He walked slowly, keeping one hand on the wall for support. His legs felt weak and he was sure that he was slowly getting hotter and the dizziness wasn't going away but slowly getting worse. Dean paused, his throat working as he tried to swallow but his mouth was chalk dry. He swallowed the rest of his rest of his water, but his mouth was still dry.　

Dean looked behind himself and realized that he had only walked about twenty-five feet. He shook his head—which he regretted instant as a wave of nausea washed over him and the room seemed to spin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to center himself. Why was it so hot in here? A while ago, it was cold and now it felt as if he were in a sauna. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel as he opened his eyes and started to walk again.

He could see the transporter doors at the end of the corridor, it wasn't that much farther. If he just got to it and to his level, he wouldn’t have that much farther to walk to his quarters. There he can lay down for a while and everything could be all right, maybe even take a bath before he laid down—all he had to do was make it to his the transporter. He started to walk again, even slower than before and he put more of his weight against the wall.　

Dean nearly collapsed in relief when he finally got to the transporter, but he was sure that if he did he wouldn't be able to get back up again. When he pressed the location that he wanted on the map and was transported, he was sure that he had blacked out for a second.　

He saw spots in his vision but kept on his way. He barely had enough strength to wave his hand in front of the sensor to his quarters’ door. He stumbled inside, barely making it to his bed before he collapsed. He didn't have the energy or mind to take off his shoes, let alone tuck himself into bed.

Dean also knew that he should have gone to the infirmary instead of his quarters, because this definitely wasn't just the sniffles.　

**742 - 776**

John stepped from the shower, and grabbing his towel quickly wiped the beads of water from his skin. He had just gotten back from a mission and the very first thing that you have to do after the required physical was take a shower. He grabbed a clean pair of BDU's and slipped them on before sitting on the corner of his bed and slipping on his boots.　

Since he had nothing better to do for the rest of the day and Dean didn't have a mission until tomorrow, he decided to visit what one might call John's secret boyfriend. He was at the same time wondering why Atlantis was buzzing in the back of his mind. They hadn't seen each other in awhile and it kind of irritated John a lot—the fact that they were finally together, yet weren't really allowed to be together was really stupid. Don't forget the fact that they were in the same city, yet hardly get to see each other due to their conflicting mission schedules.

John finished tying his shoes and stood, hopefully he could find Dean quickly and they could sneak off somewhere unnoticed… if you caught his drift. First, he would check the usual places—since Dean was still new to the city—the mess hall, the armoury, the gym and then Dean's quarters. And if after that John still couldn't find Dean, he would com. him.

The city was fuller, now that it was later in the day and the weather had warmed. He checked the mess first and didn't spot Dean, but he did find Jane and Martin. Casually he walked over to their table, the usual casual smirk on his lips. Their conversation stopped and they looked up at his approach.

"Captain, Lieutenant." John greeted.　

Jane nodded his greeting—seeing as he had a mouth full of food—"Colonel." Martin voiced his.

"I was wondering if you had seen Sergeant Winchester today?" John asked. "There is a matter that we need discuss."　

Martin and Jane shared a quick look. "I don't thing we've seen him since yesterday after our mission." Martin confessed. After a moment, Jane nodded his agreement.

A disappointed look crossed John's face and a sympathetic one filed across Jane's. "You could always try him on the com." Jane suggested.　

"Thanks." John gave them a farewell nod before he turned and left the mess. The reason that he didn't want to use his com. was because he didn't want to attract the attention of others due to the fact that Dean and him were meeting up—it was like Weir had said * _be discreet*._

John gave a sigh and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He would just have to do this the old fashion way. But when he checked the armoury Dean wasn't there, and he wasn't in the gym either. John felt more confident when he waved his hand over the sensor for Dean's quarters and the door opened. But that went out the window when the light's came on and he spotted Dean laying half way on the bed.　

"Dean!" John rushed to him, turning him on his back.　

John checked his pulse, it was rapid and threaded. Dean was shivering, yet he was sweating and he was hot to the touch.

"Dean!" John tried again, louder this time.

A low moan left Dean's lips. John shook his shoulder and the sudden movement caused Dean's eyes to flutter open. Emerald green eyes looked at him, but instead of being clear and steady, they were feverish.

" _Johnny. . ._ " Dean's lips barely moved and his throat worked, it came out like a wheeze. His eyes slipped closed again.　

John tapped his ear com. "This is Sheppard, I need a Medical Team at Sergeant Winchester-O'Neill's quarters." He said rapidly into his into the com., looking down at Dean with great worry. "You better not be dying," John muttered, leaning forward and kissing Dean's forehead. "Or there'll be hell to pay."


	9. Chapter 9

**SGA - SPN**

**7 42 - 7 76**

John paced. Paced with so much anxiety that he was burning a hole through the Atlantis floor. John was never a patient man, nor was he not patient. He was kind of in-between, but with the worry of Dean on his mind made him a not so patient man. So he was furiously pacing outside of the infirmary, an arm held across his chest to support the elbow of his other arm as he gnawed on his thumb nail. John hadn't seen this habit come to rise since he was last with Dean, all those years before when they decided to join. It was the not knowing and the worry and the anger that he hadn't found Dean earlier.　

He could feel Atlantis' gentle and reassuring Hum in the back of his mind, telling him that Dean was going to be okay. But he brushed it aside. The only way that he was going to be reassured was after he saw Dean himself and Beckett gave him the word.

So John paced in the hall outside the infirmary, all but eating him thumb and ignoring the glances that the officers and scientists sent him from the corner of their eyes as they passed. At the moment he really didn't care what they thought that he was doing -- the man that he loved was sick and that was all he was concerned about.　

It had been about an hour since Dean was taken in and he was shutout, before Beckett finally came out, a tired look on his face. John instantly stopped pacing and turned to the Scottish doctor.　

"What?" he demanded, too stressed to be polite.　

"He is ill. I suspect he must have picked it up from his last mission, coming back soaked to the bone." Beckett told him. "He is running quite a high fever, and he's dehydrated. I've put him on antibiotics and some fluids."　

John looked at him. "So he's going to be fine?"

"I estimate a two week sick and recover period together, depending on the fever, though it is still too early to tell."　

John gave a sigh of relief as he ran a hand through his ever dark and unruly hair. "Can I see him?" he asked quietly.　

Beckett looked at the Colonel for a long moment. Weir had informed him of John and Dean's situation—for medical reasons—and he knew that if he turned John away now, the Colonel would just find an unnecessary way to get to Dean. He sighed. "You can—but only for a few moments. He needs his rest, Colonel."　

John gave the doctor a grateful smile as he brushed by into the infirmary in search of his lover. He found Dean in a curtained-off area, for which John was thankful; at least now they could have some privacy. He went in and closed the curtain behind him before he went to Dean's bedside.　

He was laying still in the gurney, the railings up. He was clad in a pair of white scrubs—John still wasn't sure if those were better than the open gowns. He had the blanket pulled up to his chest, his arms lying on top. He was primed with two IVs, one in the crook of his elbow and the other in the top of his hand. He did seem to have a thin layer of sweat covering his skin, and his brow was furrowed with discomfort.

Despite that fact, John leaned forward and placed a kiss on Dean's forehead. He wished that he could make the furrow go away, but even as he tried to smooth it away with his finger it stayed put. John sighed as he pulled a chair close to the bedside and sat in it, taking a hold of Dean's hand. He had never actually seen Dean sick before or injured—believe it or not—and at the moment he was worried and scared as hell, despite the fact that Beckett said that he should be fine before the month was over.　

He kissed Dean’s hand before he looked to the other man's face. "Come on, Dean. You gotta fight this… otherwise who else am I supposed to have great sex with?" he tried to make a joke, but it came out sounding weak. John sighed, "You can't do this to me, Dean. I just got you back."　

There wasn't even a twitch from Dean, and it was like he was in a coma instead of just having a fever. But John knew how bad fevers could get and the thought scared him. What if something went wrong with Dean? What if the fever kicked-up instead of going down? John shook his head, trying to rid himself of those kinds of thoughts. Being negative wouldn’t do him any good, but John also knew that he could in no way be positive about this situation.　

"John," Beckett said from behind him, and John gave a sad nod of acknowledgement.

"Give me a sec?" John asked, glancing over his shoulder at him. Beckett nodded before he turned and left.　

John turned back to Dean, his grip tight on the other man's hand. "Just… get better, would you?" John asked quietly as he stood from the chair and leaned over Dean, placing a small kiss on his lips. He really didn't care if there was a chance that he could catch whatever it was that Dean had. He gave the man's hand one last squeeze before he left back through the curtain.　

**7 42 - 7 76**

That night Dean thrashed and he rambled. Calling out names that he hadn't voiced in a long while, calling his father and calling John. The next morning he was awake, but just barely. Only enough so as he retched and puked up everything in his stomach, his brow covered in sweat. His fever went down the next night, only then becoming aware of the fact that he was really fucking tired, exhausted was more like it. John visited whenever he could—which just meant that whenever Beckett would allow him. He held Dean's hand and tried to make jokes—only feeling real relief when Dean opened his eyes and looked up at him with clear emerald green hues.　

"It's about time," John said softly. "I was about to give up waiting, you know, and find someone else to have sex with."　

Dean looked at him with an open mouth, astonished. "I laying here in the infirmary, sick and ailing, and all you can think about is sex?" John just looked at him with a raised brow, and a smirk tugged at the corners of Dean's lips. "Glad to see nothing’s changed."

"Nope," John agreed, leaning forward in his chair and kissing Dean.

Dean knew that he should have pulled back, because if someone caught them a lot of shit would hit the fan. But he couldn't seem to—John had caught him at a weak moment—so he kissed John back, ironically with fever. Dean couldn't help it, John's lips were like a drug; they had always been since before their very first kiss. Dean's eyes slipped closed and the fingers from his arm without the IVs wove through John's hair. John slipped in a little tongue.　

John pulled away reluctantly and Dean gasped for breath, his face flushed. "You know, it's kinda mean to try and suffocate a sick person with a kiss." Dean told him.　

"Really?" John said, sitting back in his chair. "Is there another way that you'd prefer to go?" John asked.　

Dean laid his head back against his pillow, a thoughtful look on his face. After a moment he turned his head to John, a devilish expression on his face. "I wouldn't mind going out with your dick in my ass," Dean said, his voice dripping with lust.

John's face flushed at the prospect of his hard dick in Dean's ass. And he found himself biting his lips just thinking about, a half hard cock confined in his pants. Dean grinned at the look on John's face and the way he shifted in his chair, trying to adjust himself. He loved doing that to John, and loved the fact that by him just saying something he could make the other man hard.　

John looked at him, his eyes alit. "You're so lucky that I have a mission soon, or I would bend you over backwards."　

"That's too bad then," Dean looked at him, his lids at half mast as he slowly licked his lips.　

John cleared his throat, shifting in the chair again and pulling at his pants, trying to create room for his ever hardening dick. "Just wait until you get better." John tried to threaten, but his was weak in his current state.

Dean just smiled mischievously.　

**7 42 - 7 76**

After John left, Dean was left alone and he was totally bored. He wanted to get the hell outta there, but he was still feeling weak and tired—and knew from experience that if he left now, without permission, that he would probably get sick again and have to stay in the infirmary longer, which meant less time with John and not being able to go off-world with his team.　

But as it turned out, he got sick anyway later that night. His fever came back with a vengeance, puking up whatever he had been able to eat earlier that day, and even after his stomach was empty he still retched. Sometimes there would be nothing and his stomach would just constrict, other times it was bile and sometime he would find one or two little flecks of blood. He knew that that was nothing really serious, it's happened to him before when he once got food poisoning. But it did change the fact that he was so hot and then cold at the same time, he was sweating but had a chill. Half the time he was confused and had no idea where he was, then he would retch and sometimes he was able to get some sleep, but even then it wasn't restful.　

Beckett had not other choice but to sedate him, and have a nurse sit at his bedside in case there was any change. The next time he had come to, it was three days later and his fever had finally broken, and he was actually able to finally sleep properly without any dreams or sedation.　

The next time he opened his eyes, he thought that he would find John in the chair next to the bed again, but instead he found Sean and Patrick staring down at him. He blinked at them in surprise, "What are you guys doing here?" he gave a grunt as he pushed himself up, and used his pillow to support himself.　

Sean smirked at Dean. "Why? Can't a couple of friends visit another friend when he's sick?"　

Dean snorted as he looked at Sean. "I been here for a week; and I've haven't seen hide nor hair of the two of you."

"Well, that's not our fault," Patrick defended himself and his lover. "Dr. Weir keeps sending us off-world." Dean eyes snapped to him, and red flushed Patrick's face as he realized the implication of his statement.　

"I'm glad you guys can function pretty well without me." Dean pouted, crossing his arm over his chest.

Patrick opened his mouth, probably to apologize when Sean gave a loud snort of derision. The other two looked at him.

"If you want to trade spots with me, I'm all for it."　

"What? Why?" Dean asked in confusion, but Patrick looked at Sean with understanding.

"Because, when Weir sends us off-world, we're not going on a mission, we're baby-sitting." Sean told Dean with a roll of his eyes.　

"Well… Okay then." Dean said, feeling like a complete ass. He shot Patrick an apologetic look. Babysitting was always the worst mission.　

Patrick gave him a smile back. "So you get better soon, so we can go on a real mission again."

"You can count on that." Dean told them with conviction.

True to his word, a week later Dean was back on duty with SGA-2.　


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warning is advised; in the next two chapters there is going to be allot of Dean damage—so brace yourselves.

**SGA - SPN**

**7 42 - 7 76**

　They ran, that was the only thing that they could do. They were out numbered. There was only the four of them against a group of at least a dozen and maybe even a little extra. The inhabitants of the planet may not have advanced technology, but Dean realized not too long after he joined the Stargate Program that in order for you to be dangerous you didn't need advanced weaponry.　

Sean was in the front, one hand griping his P90 as the other one held onto the front of Patrick's vest, pulling the other man along. Patrick ran alongside Sean, keeping perfect strides despite the fact that he had been struck in the head by a projectile from one of the inhabitants of the planet. Lorne wasn't too far behind the two, uninjured like Sean but sweat covering his brow just the same. And lastly was Dean. He was on Lorne's heels and like Patrick… he was injured.　

It was nothing caused by the mob after them, but by his own doing. At the initial start of the run from the group, Dean had miscalculated the jump of a fallen tree. It was either slow down and climb over it, or keep running the speed he was at and vault over it. He had actually jumped over it, but his foot had caught on a hidden branch on the other side -- he was sure that he twisted it.

Dean was also sure that he was also falling behind, breathing very heavily and his lungs aching because he may not be as fully recovered as he had thought. His lungs burned and the gate wasn't in sight, he tried to run faster as he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the mob was drawing closer—this uneven ground was doing hell to his ankle.

They were nearing the split in paths. The left one would take them to the gate which was just over a hill, and Dean had no idea where the other one lead to. But he made a split decision and veered to the right as the others stayed left. They didn't notice his absence until they were at the gate and it was too late by then to go back for him. Dean knew that John would be pissed when they came and got him, but the other man was just going to have to deal -- this was Dean's fault anyway.

He had slipped away from the others to take a leak, and accidentally pissed on Sacred Ground—the locals spoke English so that much he was sure of. So he knew that most of them would take the right and come after him, and only a few would go left after the others. Dean let out a hiss as the trail suddenly went downward and his feet slipped in the loose ground. He could hear the shouts and cusses of the mob behind him. They were much too close for his liking.　

He was distracted for a moment as he ducked under a low hanging branch that he didn't notice the sudden drop that came after it. The fall was short, probably only about five feet, but it hurt like hell and Dean knew that it would leave him covered in bruises—though that was the least of his problems. He had landed on a rock bed, covered in shallow water.　

Dean just got his hands under him when the shouts were on top of him. Splashes surrounded him as the men jumped from the ledge. He turned his head just in time to see something fly towards his face, and then there was nothing.

**7 42 - 7 76**

"If anything happens to him, "John shouted, "Not only will I have your ass, but General O'Neill will too!"　

Lorne tried not to cringe under John's treats, and it wasn't easy in the least. He knew that back there on the planet that he should have kept Dean in front of him, should have kept an eye on him. Lorne knew that the locals were after Dean; after all, he pissed on their Sacred Land. Lorne knew that he could quite possibly get dishonourably discharged for this, but at the moment getting reamed out in front of Sean and Patrick was worse enough. But he let none of that show on his face.　

" _John_!" Weir shouted, and John's mouth snapped shut, his shoulders tense as hell. "Yelling at the Major is not helping," John opened his to comment on the fact that he wasn't yelling, but having a simple conversation —but Weir talked over him, her voice hard: "If you want to be on this rescue mission, I suggest that you step in line." He said nothing as he gave her a hard stare. "Major Lorne will be leading; I suggest that you listen to him, Colonel."　

**7 42 - 7 76**

The next time Dean opened his eyes, he found himself suspended three feet into the air. His hands were bound on two beams on either side of him, his feet hanging free—and if it wasn't to most painful thing Dean had experienced yet. The thin bands were cutting into his wrists, a small trickle of blood slowly running down his arms. The ach of all his weight hanging from his arms like this was tremendous. His gaze was blurry and he could feel the tingle of a cut on his brow, and the stiffness of dried blood. His head was throbbing and he wasn't sure if it was from the hit to the head, or the ach of hanging for god knows how long.　

He looked through squinted eyes at his surroundings, and found a tickle in the back of his mind about the fact that this place looked vaguely familiar. He was in an empty courtyard looking place, and across the yard he could vaguely see a column. He tried to look behind himself, painfully trying to twist his neck, but it was no use. From the corner of his eye though, he could see something that did seem familiar now—a familiar something that he pissed on!　

 **Shit!** He cursed and when he turned back around he found himself staring at a few dozen locals all standing around him. Dean was actually surprised that he wasn't full of bloody holes right now from all of the dagger stares that he was getting. He cringed as he felt a breeze and realized belatedly that he was very much naked. And it wasn't like he was embarrassed about his body —Dean knew that he was gorgeous, just like a God—but in his current situation he would have preferred to be clothed.　

Every muscle in his body tensed as people in the crowd moved aside as a trio made their way up to the front. An older man was in front, he was probably in his fifties with a cloud white beard and balding head, clad in a cloak—more than likely he was the leader. On his left and slightly behind him was a younger man, probably Dean's age, and he was huge, his clothes bulging from the muscles underneath, he looked tough as hell—maybe even more scary than Ronon. And to the older man's right was a scrawny looking kid that was probably only fifteen if Dean had to take a guess, he was hunched in on himself and carried a brown bag in his arms.

They stopped just before the platform that Dean was on, not even sparing him a look as they turned, the older man and the huge guy as one, but the kid fumbled and stumbled. And despite the fact that Dean was tied up and some shit was going down, he felt kind of bad for the kid, stumbling around in front of everyone like that—on apparent Holy ground.　

" _This Demon has trespassed on our Sacred Grounds_ ," the old guy started, addressing the crowd. " _Has come into our town and invaded our homes. It spoiled our God by spreading Its unwanted poison on our Land, contaminating them with Evil. It has come from the Devil's Portal and taken our appearance, trying to turn us. But we will not turn!_ " he shouted and the crowd shouted back their agreement.　

Dean really couldn't believe that he was dealing with religious freaks. How the hell was he supposed to know that this was Sacred Ground? He had to piss and the place had actually looked abandoned—God, he couldn't believe that a mob had come after him and he was tied naked to a couple of poles. And God knows what they were going to do to him—and he really had to stop saying God and God only knows in his current predicament.

" _It must be punished_ ," the old guy was saying and Dean's eyes snapped to the back of his head. " _It must pay for the crime It had done onto our God and Saviour_!" Dean winced at that. " _It wears the colour of our Land, and he will bleed until the Hell's Fire leaves Its flesh_!!"　

Dean paled at that, but the crowd had a difference of opinion as they cheered. Dean's emerald eyes tract the burley man as he turned and walked around behind him, the kid scrambling after. Dean tried to turn his head, to see if what was happening behind him—and wishing for just a second that he was an owl so that he could see what was happening behind him and what was in the bag.　

Dean turned back, his breath coming heavy in his sudden panic as he struggled against the binds. The thin strips cut sharply into his flesh, and fresh blood ran down his strained arms. John better get here, Dean thought, and he better get here right now! Dean was breathing like a pregnant women, every muscle tense in his body. This place was old fashioned, their clothes, their belief, everything—he had seen _Robin Hood_ and it was interesting to see their punishment back then on TV, but experiencing it in real life and being on the receiving end? 　

" **Fuck**!" Dean yelled as the first one came, the crowd gasped in shock and he felt a few stones pelt him. It was the lash from a leather whip, with more than one band by the feel of it. The guy didn't hold back either, as the strips of leather tore through the flesh of his back as if it were melted butter. Dean could feel the warmth of blood as it ran down the small of his back, over his round cheeks and the back of his thighs before it dripped from the tip of his toes to the platform beneath him.　

Dean didn't know how many lashes he was given, or for how long, but he had stopped screaming a while back, not having the strength to do much more than grunt, gasp and sob. He was soaked in the redness of his own blood, as blood leaked from open gashes in the back of his arms, his shoulders, his back and the top of his ass. Running blood covered his legs, and pooled onto the platform underneath him. Dean had thought that hanging there had hurt, but this was just downright the most painful thing he had ever experienced in his life.

He couldn't believe that he was going to go out this way: naked, tied down, sobbing with tears running down his deathly pale face, his back looking like a thing of ground beef and covered in his own blood—he was sure that if he hadn't all ready gone piss, he would be covered in that too. Dean was a usually very proud man, but that pride went along with the blood.　

Every time a lash was administered, Dean would let out a croak of pain and a sob, and the crowd would cheer. And sometimes, when Dean had the strength, he'd yell at them, telling them that he _was_ a Demon and that the others would come back for him and they would be killed and cursed and all Hell would be brought down on them—and he really didn't give a shit that he wasn't a Demon and there was no such thing, in this moment he wanted these people to die, painfully just like he was slowly bleeding out in what would be his eventual painful death.

" _Johnny_!" he sobbed out as an especially painful stroke. He was never going to see John again. The man that he loved, the man that he —despite the fact that because of their career was never going to happen—he wanted to marry and live with and have children with and grow old with. He knew that it was stupid, and mundane, and that even if he did live through this it was never going to happen—but it was what he really wanted. 　

" _I'm sorry_ ," it left his mouth in a single breath before his eyes slipped closed and head went slack, the blood trailing down his back and dripping from his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed this chapter, or hated me cause I’m being so mean to Dean—Well then Review and tell me, I wanna know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter in this fic! Very Angst-y.

**SGA - SPN**

**7 42 - 7 76**

Dean couldn't breathe. Every time let out a breath and then tried bring one back in again, the air entering his lungs became less and less. He struggled, trying to figure out what was blocking the passage, but his vision was dark. He struggled, but couldn't seem to move. There was pressure on his chest and something preventing him from moving his arms forward. He yelled, but his voice came out as a croaked muffle. His heart was fluttering in his chest—but not in the girly-good kind of way—and instead with fear. He struggled, the pain in his back was like lava fire, and he could feel something on his back pulling. But the panic inside of him would not let him stop struggling.　

He was suffocating and he couldn't move to stop it!

" _Dean_!"　

Suddenly there was a bright light flashing in his eyes and he could breathe again, his lungs expanding as he gasped for desperately needed air. He coughed for a moment, pain wracking through his body in the process. He felt hands lightly touch his neck and cheeks, they were a cool relief from his hot skin. He sighed and his panic abated with the familiarization of them.　

"Johnny," he breathed out in relief, settling back down, his eyes slipping closed.

John gently ran his fingers through Dean’s damp hair, placing gentle kisses on his temple. "Don't worry," John whispered soothingly in Dean's ear, "You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you again."　

"It hurts," Dean whispered, a pained expression on his face.　

"I know," John sympathized, he reached over and pressed a button on one of the machines. There was a beep and Dean gave a sigh. "Better?" John asked.　

"Yes," Dean whispered.　

"Okay, now just get some sleep, Dean." John told him, his fingers never leaving his lover's hair. "The next time you wake up, you'll fell much better—I promise."　

"Mmm," was all that Dean could muster, the drugs already kicking in and a small sigh leaving his lips.　

John gave a small smile, but his eyes were filled with worry as he glanced at Dean’s exposed back. It was painful for John to look at, but the Colonel knew that it was way more painful for Dean.　

When they had found Dean, John had seen red—and not just the blood that covered Dean and the platform—but in his gaze. He wanted to kill every single person that had sat there and watched this horrendous crime, and not to mention the person who had actually done it to Dean. The only real thing that kept him from going ballistic was the fact that Teyla and Ronon were at his side, and not to mention the sight of Dean strung up like that. At first John had been sure that Dean was dead. Lorne hadn't wanted to kill un-necessarily, so they came in with cloaked Jumpers and bombarded the villagers with knock-out gas.　

It had been touch and go for a while, when they had first found Dean and brought him back to the infirmary. The blood loss and the trauma… Beckett had lost count of the slashes, and the stitches count had been well over a hundred, and the chances of infection were still high. Dean's back was going to be acutely scarred, but John didn't care. He still found Dean hot and would no matter what.　

John gave a low sigh as he leaned down and kissed Dean gently on the corner of his mouth. He was just fearful of the way that Dean may react.　

**7 42 - 7 76**

True to John's word, the next time that Dean properly woke up he did feel slightly more better. He wasn't sure how long he was in and out of consciousness, but every time he blinked open his eyes for a minute or two, John was right there. This left Dean feeling safe and reassured when his eyes slipped unwillingly closed again. John was there too now when he opened his eyes, his face on the bed next to Dean's. Dean didn't want to wake him. John's eyes were closed and he had bags under his eyes.　

Dean didn't say anything, but instead shifted towards the Colonel painfully and placed a chaste kiss on John's slightly agape lips. Dean stared at John's sleeping face with sad eyes, their noses touching. Dean didn't know how long he had been out or in the infirmary, but he did still feel like shit and he hurt like hell. He eyes slipped closed again, his last sight of John snoozing face.　

**7 42 - 7 76**

The next time Dean awoke, it was to the feeling of pain. He found John holding his hand as a nurse removed the bandaging from his back and lathered the cuts with disinfectant and then smeared them with a solvent. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped John's hand back, giving a grunt when the nurse touched an especially deep slash, and John winced in sympathy.　

"It's almost over," John whispered to him.

About ten minutes later it was, and the nurse placed fresh bandages over the wounds. The ministrations left him exhausted, trying not to remember what each slash felt like as the nurse seemed to touch each individual one.　

"Don't you have a mission every once and a while?" Dean asked him quietly. "Not that I'm complaining." He quickly added and John couldn't help the smirk.　

"Weir's taken me off active duty for awhile," John told him with embarrassment.　

Dean looked at him with a furrowed brow. "Why?" taking John off duty didn't make any real sense to him.

"Because," John glanced away from him, "I snapped back on the planet and if Ronon and Teyla weren't there, I probably would have killed half of the locals."　

Dean looked at him with bright eyes. He knew that killing people was wrong, but he had wanted everyone there dead too—and if he could have, he would have done it. And he didn't love John any less for it, probably loved him even more because of the fact.　

"I don't blame you there," Dean agreed with him.　

John looked at him with surprise. "Really?"

"Yup," Dean agreed. "You know, they were calling me a Demon and shit that came from the Gates of Hell to turn them to the dark side. That I poisoned their Land because I had to take a piss and accidentally did it on their Sacred Grounds." Dean snorted, grimacing at the twinge it caused, "So you know what I did? I told them that I _was_ a Demon and that I cursed them and that others were coming for me and that they'd kill them all."　

John looked at him but said nothing, only blinking in surprise at what Dean said next:

"You shouldn't blame Major Lorne," Dean told him, his voice firm. "I was the one that took a piss on Sacred Grounds, the mob was after me. You shouldn't think that because I'm the General's son that I should be taken extra care of."　

"That's not true," John denied. "I think that I'm gonna kick the ass of anyone who lets you get hurt, Dean Winchester-O‘Neill, because I love you."　

"The feeling’s mutual," Dean deadpanned. "But Major Lorne didn't do anything wrong. I took a different turn than they did, knowing full well that they wouldn't notice until it was too late and that more than half of the villagers would come after me."　

John gave a sigh. "I know. Martin and Jane told me that with passion and concern." He admitted, "But it didn't change the fact that I was pissed about it."　

"That's our job," Dean told him quietly, his eyes in shadow. "It's unpredictable what might go down off-world."

John's fingers combed gently through Dean's locks, his lover's eyes slipping closed. "I know," he whispered, his voice almost inaudible.　

**7 42 - 7 76**

The next day Dean was actually sitting up in the bed, and to himself, he would admit that it was a huge feat. The catheter was still in, Beckett not quite wanting him to walk around, scared that he'd pop a stitch. But Dean was able to eat some solid food, and it didn't matter what it tasted like because there was Earth food, then there was Earth hospital food, then there was the Atlantis food, and then there was the Atlantis infirmary food—yeah, so at the moment his stomach would take anything.　

His back hurt and it ached despite the painkillers, and he wanted so much to lean back, to relieve his shoulders and lower back of the strain, but he knew that that would hurt a little too much for his liking. Dean set his fork down on the tray in front of him and shifted with a grimace on his face; trying to relieve that strain. Someone clear cleared their throat to his side, he looked up, expecting to find John back again, but instead found…　

"Major Lorne," Dean greeted in surprise. "Don't tell me Weir took SGA-2 off the duty roster again because I'm out of commission?"

An awkward look flashed across the Major's face and Dean sighed.　

"Jeez," Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Doesn't she know that you guys could probably function **better** without me?" he looked at Lorne, an embarrassed looked on his face, "Sorry, sir."　

Lorne shook his head. "No need to apologize," he said. "Actually, _I_ wanted to apologize."　

This time Dean shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize for; I was the one that pissed on a Sacred Tree. Anyway, I told Joh—Colonel Sheppard that." He quickly corrected himself, but by the raised brow that Lorne sent him, Dean knew that it was noticed. "Colonel Sheppard and I were friends when we were in High school," Dean explained. "We kinda joined at the same time too."　

Dean waited for a surprised reaction or something, but Lorne only nodded his understanding. Dean was sure that it was probably due to the fact that probably nothing got passed the Major, and Dean was sure that he already knew about Sean and Patrick, and maybe even suspected about him and John.　

"Well," Lorne started, "I guess I should probably let you get some rest."　

"Thanks," Dean told him as he turned.　

"You know, we don't function too badly with you on board." Lorne told him over his shoulder, a friendly smirk on his face. Dean grinned back at him.　

**7 42 - 7 76**

It was actually on the third week that Dean was finally able to walk around and the catheter was taken out, it was also on the third week that Beckett let him out of the infirmary and back to his own quarters—though he was definitely not back on duty. He was given a thing of antibiotics and another thing of painkillers—for which Dean was very grateful.　

It was also during that third week that John and his team were put back on duty, and that he had an appointment with the doc to get his stitches removed. There was well over a hundred of them and it took nearly two hours of laying on his stomach, scissors, tweezers and painful pinches and pulls to get them all out. At the end of it he was a sweaty mess, and Beckett let him cool off for about ten minutes before he put on the cream and new bandages on the more deeper slashes.　

When he walked around it was with stiff shoulders and back. When he sat down to eat in the mess, he didn't let his back touch the chair. And when he laid down in his bed, he laid on his side. He didn't wear a Jacket and instead a thin long sleeve, so that the material wouldn't rub against his sensitive skin. Once a day cream had to be rubbed on his back; John would usually do it, but when he was on a mission he had either Sean or Patrick do it—and despite the fact that he had yet to look at his back himself, Sean and Patrick never did comment on that fact, and John didn't push it.　

But it was on the fourth week that he finally pushed himself to do it; before, he was scared, he was still scared. Scared of what it would look like and how ugly it would make him. If even after having his back like this, he may still be beautiful to himself and to others—especially to John, or if he would carry this around with him like a weight on his shoulders for the rest of his life? Or if he would be able to finally, and actually live with it? One thing was for sure though, that he had learned from all of this, was that he was never ever going to take a piss off-world again—actually, he was never going to go to the bathroom off-world again, even if he was stuck on the other side of the gate for days.　

He stood in his bathroom naked; droplets of water fell from his wet hair and trailed down his now scarred back. Dean looked at himself in the mirror; his front looked the same. He gave a smirk, watching his reflection as the corner of his lips turned upward. At first glance he looked the same that he always had, as he had always remembered—but then when he looked he saw that they seemed darker somehow, that there was something hidden deep. Dean knew what it was—a realization—a realization that he now knew something that he never really knew before.　

Before, when he had been captured by the Goa'uld, and tortured for answers it had been different. They were parasites, monsters that had taken over the body and the mind of helpless Humans. It didn't really affect him, but now… These were Humans, who were **not** possessed, and had willingly flogged him. And even though it was because of their beliefs—for which Dean would never discriminate—it had hit him hard because he had accidentally urinated on their Sacred Grounds. It had hit him hard because they were Humans—people—people who had done this to him, who had caused him such pain. He knew that people had done bad things back on Earth; murders, rape, abuse, all of it, but Dean had never been involved with those, had never knew any of those people. But this had happened to Dean, he was the one that had been in their crosshairs, he was at the end of the flogging.　

Dean gave an explosive sigh as he ran his fingers through his wet locks. Licking his now suddenly dry lips he turned around and peered tentatively over his shoulder. His skin felt stiff and he could feel the way that it stretched tightly. The instant his gaze hit the mirror, he wanted to tear it away again, but he forced himself to look. It was probably a little less worse than he had imagined it would be, but it was still bad.　

He wasn't sure how many lashes there had been when he was tied up, and even now he couldn't—and didn't—dare count how many there was. Some were thin, while other were deep, and most of the seemed to blend in with each other or overlap. Each wound was healed, but the scars left behind were puckered and pink, standing out on his tan skin. The lashes did expand over all of his back; a few thin ones were on the back of his arms, those ones he sure would heal with barely even a scar. The ones on his back though, that was a different story altogether; they were puckered and thick, the scar tissue smooth and sensitive; for them to become thin and white scar that were barely noticeable against his skin, it would take years.　

Dean tore his gaze away from the mirror as he turned back to the sink, placing his hand on either side, he leaned all of his weight on it, his head bowed. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, the muscles on his back working. He knew that even with the scars that he was still handsome, and that all it would take was just a little to get used to it. And that was just Dean; he knew that Sean and Patrick wouldn't treat him differently and that they were still his friends, but what about John? The other man hadn't really commented on his back, but had kept reassuring Dean that it would be fine, that they would heal. But then again John and he hadn't had sex since he got released from the infirmary, and that worried Dean. Maybe John didn't love him anymore and that was the reason why John wouldn't have sex with him.　

Dean was fearful that John may not love him anymore, even after all that they had been through; the other things had been a mental challenge, but this one was physical. Did John still love him and find him attractive? Or was he still with Dean on the simple fact of pity or sympathy? So Dean, not really knowing what to do in this situation and having this being his only real relationship, avoided John -- scared that the other man may want to break it off with him.　

**7 42 - 7 76**

John was really confused and hurt by this point a week later, but he wasn't angry with Dean in the least. This was what he had feared, that because of the scars that Dean would somehow think less of himself. John knew that Dean hated to be coddled, but the Colonel couldn't help it; when he had seen Dean so helpless looking and all of that blood… John just felt like Dean had somehow turned fragile. That was also the reason why John didn't have sex with him—even though he desperately, desperately wanted and needed and would love to have sex with Dean, very loving and very rough at the same time—but he didn't want to hurt Dean.　

And that was when John realized why Dean had been avoiding him, and he actually slapped himself on the forehead as rushed down the halls of Atlantis to the gate room. He couldn’t believe that it had taken him all this time to realize how stupid he had been and he knew that he had to tell Dean so before the other man went on his mission. And at this point, John really didn't give a hot shit if anyone found out that he was totally and completely in love with Dean Winchester-O'Neill.　

"Dean!" he called as he ran into the gate room.　

The gate hadn't been dialled yet and he saw Dean and the rest of SGA-2 standing in the middle of the room, checking each others gear. Dean turned to him, surprised that John had called him by his first name while there was this many people around—and Dean sent John a look that said as much. John ignored it and walked up to Dean, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him to the corner by the stairs. Dean came along reluctantly; his heart pounding inside his chest.　

"John, what are you doing?" Dean exclaimed quietly, jerking his arm back.　

"We need to talk," John told him, ignoring the slight hurt that came with Dean's withdrawal.

"We can talk after my mission," Dean told him turning.　

"I love you, Dean." John called to him quietly, stopping Dean in his tracks.

Looking over his shoulder, Dean said quietly back, "I know," he turned back, but John wasn't finished.

"No, I don't think that you do." He had been descent enough to drag them to a corner, but Dean was being too difficult. "I love you, Dean, more than anything. When we were teenagers, when we joined together—I wasn't sure what I'd do when I got sent here, but that just made my appreciation and love fore you grow. When you got assigned here too, I couldn't believe it and I finally got to show you just how much I loved and missed you. But when Lorne came back four weeks ago without you; I didn't know what to think and knew that I would rip anyone’s heart out who hurt you. When we brought you back, you just looked so fragile lying in that bed." John shook his head, unshed tears making his hazel green eyes shine. "I didn't want anything to ever hurt you again—not even me. You have no idea how bad I wanted to fuck you…"　

Dean kept his back turned to John, his shoulders stiff with emotion. His head was down and his eyes pointed to the floor, he heard the gate dial and the horizon settle down. This was not the time for John to go all lovey-dovey on him, not when he had a mission and needed to concentrate. He had believed that John didn't love or find him sexy anymore, but as it turned out it was even more so now. Dean hated himself for thinking of John the way that he had, and for avoiding the man that he loved. But did John really have to go and say all of that right now? Didn't he care that they could still get kicked-out despite the fact that his father was the General of the SGC? Dean looked over his shoulder at John again, this time his gaze was full of understanding and love, a slight blush of embarrassment on his cheeks—Dean had no idea where the hell that came from. "We'll talk when I get back," he told his lover quietly.　

John stared at him with the same gaze, and Dean turned back to his team who was waiting patiently in front of the gate. He started to walk when Lorne gave him a stern raised brow.　

"Dean," John called.　

Dean turned and John was there, crushing his lips against his. Dean stumbled at the sudden impact and grabbed John's arms to steady himself. Dean surprised himself by kissing John back, not caring that they were in the middle of the gate room and that it was crowded with other military men. John pulled Dean close to him—or as close as he could get Dean with all of the off-world gear in the way.　

Sean and Patrick shared a knowing look and smile before they stepped through the gate. And Lorne's raised brow turned from stern to just as raised brow and a shake of his head, before he followed Sean and Patrick through the gate.　

John finally allowed Dean to pull himself back; he was slightly out of breath as he gave John one last look before jogging through the gate to join the rest of his team, hoping that Major Lorne wouldn't discriminate.　

John didn't care about the consequences of this, the shit that Weir was going to give him, or the possible dishonourable discharge. None of that mattered as long as he and Dean were together again, and that the other man loved him just as much as John loved him back. John glanced around himself, now just noticing how packed the gate room was and the weird silence as everyone stared at him.　

John cleared his throat. "What are you all staring at?" he demanded. He put on his Colonel-face as he stared at the staff—or glared. "Get back to work!"　

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: I hoped you liked this as much as I kept getting writers-block during this fic. So please review the hell out of this fic, please!
> 
> _If you didn’t understand in the beginning when Dean was suffocating; it was just that he was on his stomach because of the slashes on his back, so he was face down in a pillow. So then when there was suddenly light, that was John yanking the pillow out from under him and Dean’s head turning in the process. And the chapter before where Dean was being flogged and the old man said the Dean was “wearing the colour of their Land” he was just referring to the fact that Dean’s eyes are green._


End file.
